Review: Hobo with a Shotgun

B+: An all-or-nothing gambit from the title on down.

Like last year’s Machete, Jason Eisener’s Hobo with a Shotgun originated from a fake trailer created for 2007’s Grindhouse. Unlike Machete, Hobo feels like an honest-to-goodness exploitation flick unleashed from the grimy depths of the ‘70s and ‘80s, as opposed to a post-post-modern wink-fest. Better yet, this terrifically mean-spirited and ultra-violent piece of schlock finds itself surprisingly well-anchored by Rutger Hauer’s performance as the titular vagrant.

Our homeless, nameless anti-hero rides in on the rails to Hope City, home to anything but. The streets are crime-ridden, the cops corrupt, with everyone under the thumb of The Drake (Brian Downey) and his two obnoxious sons, Ivan and Slick (Nick Bateman and Gregory Smith). The Hobo is a pacifist with only a lawnmower in his sights and the domestic bliss it represents on his mind, but once he saves golden-hearted hooker Abby (Molly Dunsworth), the Hobo is harassed by first the police and then the hair-slicked villains. By the time he can finally buy himself that lawnmower, he finds himself in the middle of a robbery and forced to take action with an equally priced firearm …

Eisener nails the neon-bright, nigh expressionistic color scheme of Karim Hussain’s cinematography, the synth-heavy score, and the general air of sleaze and nihilism that defined so many exploitation films that served as an influence; Hope Town here exists in the same universe as The Warriors’ vision of NYC and anything released under the Troma banner. The depravity on display is boundless, the one-liners are corny as hell, the splatter sure is plentiful, and the entire ensemble delivers performances worthy of the film’s exuberant tone.

But what really puts this over-the-top extravaganza over the top is Hauer’s ferocious and oddly sincere performance. Whether he’s warning a nursery full of infants away from lives of panhandling or imploring that Abby follow her dream (well, his idea of her dream) of becoming a schoolteacher, he manages to earn sympathy in a film that has little interest in it. As one headline reads, “Hobo Stop Begging, Demands Change;” he wants a better tomorrow for a town that doesn’t want him, even if he won’t live to see it.

Regardless of Hauer’s terrific turn, this is pretty much an all-or-nothing gambit from the title on down. If the concept alone doesn’t do anything for you, then go ahead and get your kicks elsewhere. If the novelty hasn’t worn off, though, then rest assured that, over 86 minutes, Hobo with a Shotgun will deliver enough bang for your buck.

Hobo with a Shotgun is currently in limited release and is also available on demand.

Grade: B+

Source: film.com

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Cannes Review: Midnight in Paris

A: A real treat, a buttery and flaky croissant.

Woody Allen’s latest film, Midnight in Paris, opens with a visual love letter to the city. Images of the Eiffel Tower, strolls along the Champs-Élysées, close-ups on the Arc de Triomphe which gracefully segue into the glass pyramids of the Louvre — Allen has thrown in all the iconic imagery that makes Paris as much an ideal as it is a city. It’s also clear from the opening that we’re headed for one of Allen’s lighter works, tonally, though that’s no ding on the overall effectiveness. Midnight in Paris is a real treat, a buttery and flaky croissant with a carafe of red wine thrown in to satisfy adult sensibilities.

Owen Wilson, as Gil Pender, embodies the concept that is Paris. He’s whimsical, prone to long walks, and desperately seeking to capture the magic and romance of the city. He’s a Hollywood screenwriter who dreams of finishing a great novel, to do something of substance, much in the same way that great novelists want to break into screenwriting, to do something of commercial significance. Owen is engaged to Rachel McAdams, and they are visiting Paris while he puts the finishing touches on his novel. She’s not exactly supportive, as she thinks struggling to write a novel is silly when screenwriting is so lucrative, though she is looking forward to both their nuptials and starting a life back in Malibu, California. One evening Wilson goes on a solo walk, the clock strikes midnight, an old-timey car approaches him, and he’s magically transported back to the roaring ’20s in Paris, the “golden age” he’s been seeking all along.

The luminaries he runs across are part of what make Midnight in Paris special: F. Scott and Zelda Fitzgerald, Ernest Hemingway, Pablo Picasso, Salvador Dali, and many more; he has small moments with each, in-jokes for the literati abound. Hemingway (played by Corey Stoll) in particular is delightful: he’s pointed and brusque, but full of courage and honor, much like his masterful prose and the man himself. Wilson takes the whole time travel element in stride, overjoyed at the fact that he’s getting to meet his inspirations. It plays out like a fantasy camp for Wilson, with Gertrude Stein offering to read his novel, Dali stopping him for a chat in a bar, Cole Porter tickling the ivory for his listening pleasure. A cornucopia of intellectual enchantment is at his disposal, and he savors every moment. Marion Cotillard plays Adriana, muse to Picasso and Hemingway, the latter of whom asks her, “Do you know what it’s like to shoot a charging lion?” Whimsy city, but in a pleasant way.

Meanwhile, back in present day, McAdams becomes increasingly frustrated with his random midnight walkabouts. She begins spending time with a friend she knows in Paris, Paul (Michael Sheen), who is an expert on everything from wine to art. The Sheen-McAdams-Wilson dynamic is fantastic; laughs are plentiful as Sheen keeps upping the intellectual ante on Wilson, a romantic man who just wants to be swept away in the moment. Sheen plays Paul as “that guy,” the guy who knows everything, the guy who might be hitting on your girl, the guy who finds the ’59 version of the wine a bit too tannin-filled. You know, a jerk, though in this case the pedantic blowhard adds plenty of wry wit to an already clever story.

The dialogue throughout Midnight in Paris is also crisp and packed with levity. At one point Wilson attempts an aside, he hems and haws, before McAdams mercilessly cuts him off with a “That’s it? That’s the ending to your story?” to which Wilson parries, “That wasn’t a story, it was a detail.” But the main thrust and cohesion of the film can be found in all the ’20s action, an era Wilson visits regularly. The age-old debate of “When is Paris at its most lovely?” is finally settled, and the types of personalities that would and wouldn’t walk in the rain are fully parsed. There’s also a smallish role for Carla Bruni, she of Sarkozy wifedom, and she acquits herself well.

Sweet, sentimental, and vibrant, Woody Allen’s Midnight in Paris rightfully points out that yesterday’s frolicking bar might be today’s laundry mat … but we can always visit the good times in our memories. The same could be said of Woody Allen’s work in general — when it’s good, it’s very good indeed, which is precisely why our cultural memory holds him in such esteem … and why we choose to visit our favorite moments often and with affection.

Grade: A

Source: film.com

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Cannes Review: Sleeping Beauty Comatizes

D-: A film where nothing ever happens, and yet everything is mean-spirited.

Sleeping Beauty was the worst of times, and it was the worst of times. There were many moments I thought it wouldn’t end. But it did end, and perhaps that’s a lesson of hope for us all: No matter how ill-suited you are to any given form of entertainment, it will likely expire before you do. Result!
Emily Browning is a poor college student holding down three jobs, yet still unable to pay rent. How poor is she? The sort of poor that makes someone “search a pay phone for change” poor. So far as I could tell her gigs included 1) test subject for medical treatments 2) coffee house employee and 3) menial office worker. She’s also got a friend who is an alcoholic, and an abusive (though barely explored) mother. Her roommates want her to move out because of the whole “unable” to pay rent thing. So what’s a girl to do? If you guessed “Get a job where you traipse around in lingerie, serving old wealthy folk food” then you’re a very clever reader. Fourth job firmly in hand, Sleeping Beauty then progresses toward something truly disturbing, an upping of the ante on the lingerie job, and that’s the notion that Lucy will allow herself to be drugged while men molest her.
Still, most films rooted firmly in objectification have some higher lesson at work. The circumstances of “why” are examined, or the protagonist is more firmly considered. Not the case with Sleeping Beauty, where nothing is explored, everything is simply de facto. Lucy isn’t a bad person, or a good person, she’s just a poor person. The root of her financial instability is never fully explained, and even after she receives thousands of dollars for her work she keeps the other jobs and can’t pay rent. It’s as if the story arc of Sleeping Beauty is a prominent flat line. This isn’t a story that abhors the men who seek out illicit sex, though they are terrible, any more than it has a lesson or plot of any sort. Sleeping Beauty really isn’t anything at all, it’s just a collection of images thrown together for effect. It’s nihilism writ large, bad things keep happening to Lucy because they do, and we the audience must simply accept without curiosity that this is the case.

The “sleeping beauty” scenes, once they finally arrive, are largely disturbing with a side of appalling. And again, to what end? No story is delved into, and Lucy keeps returning dutifully for her sessions, all while somehow maintaining an impressive facade of blankness. This is a film where nothing ever happens, and yet everything is continually mean-spirited. No one grows, no one learns, there aren’t any laughs, and none of the characters require more than five seconds of introspection. An impressive trick, sure, but not one you’re likely to recommend to a friend.
If any credit can be given for this boring (though somehow still horrific) effort it must go to Emily Browning. Make no mistake, she should never ever take a part like this again, but you have to admire her bravery in taking on a role with so little upside. The character of Lucy does drugs, has no real friends, works hard for nothing, and is topless for around half of the movie. It had to have been a thankless task, but Browning truly went for it. That it was a disaster shouldn’t be held against her, any more than you’d blame the clay for producing a terrible vase. If we’re looking to hold someone accountable, we’d do well to start with the person behind the wheel.
Grade: D-
Source: film.com

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Cannes Review: Restless Is Cute with a Dollop of Drama

B-: Undeniably sweet and tender, a platform for two young and talented actors.

We’ve seen it before: boy meets girl while crashing a funeral (you may recall this was Will Ferrell’s method in Wedding Crashers). But in this case the particulars are a little smudged, the boy doesn’t really want to be pursued, and the girl is hiding something. A big spoilery something. They meet, things are alternately funny and somber, and the elements were in place for a solid dark comedy, or a slightly tougher to pull off romantic comedy. What eventually transpires is a bit of both, stuck somewhere in the middle, with a few tonal missteps sapping some of the hard-earned tension as the film nears its conclusion.

Mia Wasikowska (as Annabel) and Henry Hopper (as Enoch) are the aforementioned girl/boy pairing. He’s moody and sour, she’s light and airy. It’s been done before, but director Gus Van Sant has a particular gift with organic and eclectic modern-day romantic pairings (Good Will Hunting).

Still, they are both lost young souls, and because of this it makes sense that they’d find each other. The on-screen chemistry is there; you could see a real life couple like this getting into shenanigans, and Wasikowa’s work in particular stands out at praiseworthy.

One of the more interesting facets of Restless is Enoch’s imaginary friend, Hiroshi (Ryo Kase), a ghost who was a World War II kamikaze pilot. Hiroshi provides counsel to Enoch during some tough times, and he also injects elements of levity and wonder into the film. Strange moments take place around Annabel and Enoch’s courtship, three- and four-person conversations where only two of the people are real. Moments like this make Restless feel vibrant and vital, but they’re more prevalent in the first hour of the film. When they go, so does the momentum.

Unfortunately, Restless can’t quite find purchase when it pivots toward a more serious tone. It’s at this specific moment that it feels like a film that’s been done, and done well, over the past five decades. You want to root for Annabel and Enoch, but their more serious moments also feel the most forced. When Restless was going well it felt like the warped love child of Napoleon Dynamite and Almost Famous. When it’s not it feels manipulative and melodramatic.

Still, there are plenty of nice moments in the 90-minute effort. Van Sant makes good use of Sufjan Stevens’ “You Are the Rake” during tender interludes, and the Beatles’ “Two of Us” makes a nice appearance as well. Danny Elfman’s score is subtle enough that I didn’t even notice it, but that means it didn’t distract from the material either. A quasi-win.

Restless is the sort of film that’s easy to enjoy, but relatively easy to forget. It’s undeniably sweet and tender, and a platform for two young and talented actors. If it had stuck with a central theme, minded its tone, and nailed the ending? We might have had a contender. As it stands, it’s a perfectly pleasant way to pass an hour and a half, but not much more than that.

Grade: B-

Source: film.com

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Review: Everything Must Go is Serious Yet Likable

B+: A confident transitional step for Will Ferrell.

Though he has dabbled in light drama, Will Ferrell has yet to try the sort of intensely serious role that many of his comic peers have taken on. Everything Must Go still isn’t his grab for an Oscar (and I’m in no hurry to see him make one), but it is a confident transitional step in that direction, should he decide he wants to pull a Sandler or a Carrey.

Here he plays Nick Halsey, a competent and modestly successful salesman who, at the film’s outset, is fired. The cause isn’t the poor economy or corporate downsizing — it’s Nick’s alcoholism. It has caused trouble in the past, leading to rehab and even a period of sobriety. But now, after an incident on a business trip in Denver, it has finally sunk him.

Nick’s day gets worse when he arrives home to find that his wife has moved out of the house, changed the locks, canceled his credit cards, and put all of his belongings on the lawn. Whatever happened in Denver has proved to be the last straw for her, too.

Unsurprisingly, Nick’s response to these setbacks is to acquire as much Pabst Blue Ribbon as he can with his remaining cash, and to sit on the lawn and drink. His Alcoholics Anonymous sponsor, a cop named Frank Garcia (Michael Peña), stops by to check on him … and to tell him that city ordinances will only let him keep his stuff on the lawn if he’s having a yard sale, and only for five days. Nick doesn’t actually want to turn the incident into a yard sale, but he doesn’t have a lot of options.

That lack of options is a little strange, narratively speaking. Are we to understand that Nick has no one who will come to his aid? No friends, no family, no sympathetic former colleagues, no one but his neglectful AA sponsor? Nick isn’t the kind of drunk who alienates everyone — on the contrary, he’s a gregarious, entertaining fellow. He’s exactly the kind of guy you’d love to have a beer with. I don’t buy that he’s this destitute this suddenly.

Be that as it may, he’s living on his lawn now. Across the street is a pregnant woman named Samantha (Rebecca Hall) who has just moved to the neighborhood in advance of her husband being transferred for his job. She takes some pity on Nick, and so does Kenny (Christopher Jordan Wallace), a pudgy, outcast teenager from the block. As Nick gradually resigns himself to taking inventory of his belongings, he also takes inventory of his life.

This material could be the makings of an intense and sober drama about a broken man. It could also be an all-out farce about a hilarious drunken reprobate. Alcoholism goes both ways, as you know. Ferrell plays it closer to drama than you’d expect him to, but he’s also given plenty of funny moments. He conveys the seriousness of the character’s plight without wallowing in the sadness of it all.

Dan Rush, the first-time filmmaker who wrote and directed the project (adapting a short story by Raymond Carver), resists the urge to resolve Nick’s problems easily or stereotypically. His style isn’t showy, and Ferrell is likewise restrained. The result is a simple, unassuming movie that’s grounded in reality and is every bit as likable as Ferrell himself.

Grade: B+

Source: film.com

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Review: Bridesmaids Is a Treat

A: A few times the audience laughed so loud you couldn’t hear the next line.

At first glance, Bridesmaids might seem like another dopey rom-com movie about weddings, most likely filled with some rehashed predictable dreck. In fact, nothing could be further from the truth. Bridesmaids takes the old and makes it new again, breathing life back into a genre that had just about been trodden into the ground. Feeling like a pilgrim returned from the Promised Land, let me tell you: I’ve seen what perfection looks like, and I want more.

Life-long best friends Annie (Kristen Wiig) and Lilian (Maya Rudolph) find themselves embroiled in wedding planning when Lilian gets engaged. Though she has been asked to be maid of honor, Annie begins to suspect there isn’t going to be as much of the old closeness as Lilian’s new life is taking her further away from Annie, not only location-wise but lifestyle-wise as well. Her new friends are refined and wealthy, and Annie is a bit of a catastrophe, with a failed cake business, some weird roommates, a spacey mom, and a hook-up buddy (Jon Hamm) who makes her feel worse about her life. As Annie manages to wreak disaster after disaster through her attempts to get the bridesmaids together for fun events, her relationship with Lilian becomes strained, and fellow bridesmaid Helen (Rose Byrne) continually attempts to take over for Annie.

Bridesmaids is a treat. The plot doesn’t suck! It makes sense! There’s no weird, dumb stuff you have to accept and get past in order to enjoy the movie; it all flows and works together and is pretty tangibly awesome. To name any scenes in particular would be to detract from the movie, so let’s just say I had a very hard time picking a favorite scene as there was about, oh –- THE ENTIRE MOVIE TO CHOOSE FROM. The assortment of friends and relatives are just weird enough to be absolutely delightful, and the sense of comedic timing throughout the group is impeccable. The performances are spot-on across the board, with nary a weak link in sight, and as such it makes it hard not to mention everyone, but instead I’ll pick out a few highlights.

Kristen Wiig is hilarious and heartbreaking in her awkward attempts to survive the seemingly endless onslaught of problems she inadvertently causes, but it is Rose Byrne (who seems to be quickly proving that she can accomplish anything with alarming alacrity) who very nearly steals the show from Wiig. Conniving and ruthless, yet sickly sweet, her range as an actress is beginning to seem endless. And Melissa McCarthy, best known for her role as Sookie on Gilmore Girls, where have you been? Who knew you could act?! Incredibly funny. Chris O’Dowd, whom I always liked well enough in The IT Crowd is wonderful here: charming, goofy, and lovable as the shy and very normal love interest for Wiig.

And oh my goodness, this movie is funny, and not only an incisive takedown of the stupidity of overblown weddings. A few times the audience laughed so loud you couldn’t hear the next line. Most movies work so hard for their laughs that they are pretty much begging you on bended knee to find them amusing in any way. Fans of Freaks and Geeks will swoon when they learn that this one was directed by Paul Feig, and produced by Judd Apatow, but the real star of the show is the screenplay. Kristen Wiig and fellow screenwriter Annie Mumalo have done what felt impossible for so long: written a smart, funny, charming film about women that doesn’t manage to simultaneously hate women. So much of the genre seems to rely on the audience collectively eye-rolling and jabbing each other in the ribcage while saying gleefully, “Woman, ammiright?” And Bridesmaids ostensibly seems rife with opportunities to do so. But it doesn’t. Where it might seem obvious to slip into farce and self-hatred it skates away cleanly, making it clear that so many of the problems faced by the characters are because they are people, not because they are women. And men don’t come off badly in this either, garnering remarkably fair treatment.

Men like Christopher Hitchens routinely say things about how “Woman aren’t funny.” And yet women like Tina Fey, Amy Poehler, Kristen Wiig, and so many others are working their hardest, and they go right on being funny and incredibly awesome. Thank goodness for Kristen Wiig and her talented cohorts in Bridesmaids, who make conversations flow naturally and punch lines hit home hard. Make no mistake, these women are funny as hell.

Grade: A

Source: film.com

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Review: I Confess, Priest Isn’t Very Good

C: A movie about a priest fighting vampires should be less boring than this.

This week’s post-apocalyptic movie about the battle between humans and vampires is called Priest. It stars Paul Bettany as a priest who defies his religious superiors to prevent the slaughter of innocents. It is directed by Scott Stewart, whose last film, Legion, was completely different. It starred Paul Bettany as an angel who defies God to prevent the slaughter of innocents. Stewart and Bettany are the Scorsese and DeNiro of mediocre, CGI-laden supernatural thrillers.

Bettany plays a priest named Priest. I guess he was so priest-y there was nothing else he could be called. In this world, priests were once recruited based on their natural ability to fight vampires, which was evidently the church’s main concern. But now the war between man and vampire is over (we won!), and the remaining handful of vamps live on isolated reservations or in secret hives, so priests are no longer needed. In fact, even if a priest becomes aware of dangerous vampire activity, he is not allowed to use his priestly powers to get involved.

That is what happens to Priest. He lives in a big, Orwellian city full of high-tech gadgetry and surveillance equipment, while his brother, sister-in-law, and niece live out on the frontier. Priest gets word from the town sheriff, Hicks (Cam Gigandet), that his kinfolk were ambushed, and his niece, Lucy (Lily Collins), abducted by a herd of vampires and their human slaves, known as familiars. Priest wants to rescue her, but his boss, Monsignor Orelas (Christopher Plummer), says it is forbidden and should be left to the local civil authorities.

“To go against the church is to go against God!” the Monsignor declares, eight or nine hundred times. Well, guess what. PRIEST IS GONNA GO AGAINST GOD, THEN! AW HELLS YEAH!!

Priest and his fellow priests have some enhanced physical powers, including the ability to leap to great heights and to be good at throwing ninja stars. Hicks, a regular dude, has good aim with a six-shooter. Since he’s in love with Lucy, he’s determined to bring her back alive even if she’s been infected by the vampires. He and Priest stop every few minutes to have an argument over whether Priest will allow that, or whether Priest will have to put her down.

There’s a lot of stopping and arguing in this movie, plus a lot of stopping and having somber spiritual chats, and a lot of stopping and not doing anything. Basically, for a movie about a rogue priest and his sheriff friend fighting the forces of evil, Priest is exceptionally light on actual fighting. When it happens, it’s cool: slow-motion, Matrix-y stuff, creepy-looking vampires (they’re monsters, not humanoids), engaging action. But it’s in short supply, and the dialogue in between is generic, the film’s mythology poorly explained.

The film is based on Min-Woo Hyung’s graphic novels — based very, very loosely on them, from what I gather. Stewart’s emphasis is style rather than substance (a common problem in this genre), and he certainly creates some striking images, particularly in the sequences set in the stark wastelands. (The cinematographer, Don Burgess, gave a similar look to The Book of Eli.) Much about the story seems like it might have been interesting if it had been more fully explored: the parallels to the Western genre, the way society turned against the priests, the people’s false sense of security in their big cities. Instead, the story feels rushed, as if artificially squeezed into an 87-minute time limit. It’s too good-looking to be dismissed entirely, not bad enough to be worthy of outright scorn, but not good enough to watch, either.

Grade: C

Source: film.com

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Review: Pirates of the Caribbean: On Stranger Tides Loses That Loving Feeling

C: We can surmise Johnny Depp was handed the hat, saw ocean, and gave it a whirl.

Pirates of the Caribbean: On Stranger Tides is a pretty good example of a creative team knowing all the requisite dance steps … but then completely missing the motivation and spirit of the dance itself. The cast and crew are game, but Captain Jack Sparrow has been neutered, and all the action scenes in the world can’t make up for that lost sense of mirth that infused previous Pirates efforts. It’s by no means a bad movie, but viewed through the prism of context and expectations, it’s not a good movie either.

We start our tale at a trial for First Mate Gibbs. He’s to be convicted by a London tribunal, but even worse he’s to be convicted of being the notorious pirate named Jack Sparrow! Luckily for Gibbs’s sensitive and unbroken neck the notorious pirate intercedes on his behalf, they achieve blessed escape, and the patented “Duh Duh, Duh Duh, da da, Duh Duh Duh” Pirates theme arrives on the scene. The fellas are being chased! Sword fights, British soldiers running into each other, a desperate move by Sparrow that proves ingenious and filled with hilarity! There’s a hope that this somewhat promising open will lead to a fruitful film. Wrong.

Enter Penelope Cruz, because the script calls for her to enter, and I’m guessing she was contractually and financially obligated to do so. An entire backstory is hinted at, one where Sparrow loved this woman, but tossed her and left her, when she’d have rather he stayed and played. Now she’s first mate on a ship set to chase after The Fountain of Youth, an enterprise Jack Sparrow wheedled his way out of with Captain Barbosa. After meeting (and fighting) Cruz, Jack is rendered unconscious, and four days later he’s serving as a mate on Blackbeard’s ship. They must find mermaids, to get a tear from one, to utilize Ponce de Leon’s silver chalices, to draw water from The Fountain, to reverse the course of aging. If all of this sounds incredibly convoluted it’s because it is. Eventually, around an hour in, you’ll start to accept that the main characters are heading somewhere, in the face of remarkable danger, because they say so.

Johnny Depp’s Captain Jack Sparrow has always been a callous and manipulative anti-hero with a five percent nod toward honor. Not so for this version. They’ve ratcheted up the honor portion, because the story doesn’t have enough going on to survive otherwise. Major action beats come along every ten minutes, but they begin to all feel the same because you know as well as the film does where the culmination will come, and it won’t be on stranger tides. Sparrow’s single-minded protection of Penelope Cruz’s Angelica hurts the entertainment value, as does a preposterously thrown in new character, a missionary, who manages to fall in love with a vampire mermaid creature. Did I mention the zombies yet? Oh yes, there are zombies, voodoo dolls, and the occasional bout of magic, all in an effort to keep things moving. None of these items are explained or tied up, though there is a wordless end credits scene that involves one of them. The lone new character bright spot comes from Scrum, played by Stephen Graham. He doesn’t get much to do, but the goodwill he’s built up in projects like Boardwalk Empire and Snatch hold him in good stead.

Also impressive are the vampire mermaid effects. Though the 3-D is used sparingly, a few good examples come with the VampMers, a beautiful collection of aquatic sirens constructed to feast upon manflesh. Like the orcs, only far more shimmery. Astrid Berges-Frisbey plays a lead VampMer named Syrena, no complaints there, though the logic of the piece begins to come undone almost directly after he establishment of VampMers. Unfortunately the film sets up internal logic rules, only to break them, and not in a fun and silly way, but more in a “couldn’t quite make this element fit” sort of way.

To be fair, Pirates of the Caribbean: On Stranger Tides does have all the ingredients you’ve come to love from the Pirates franchise. That the ingredients are used improperly, and half baked, is simply an indictment on the creative team, not the principals. We can surmise Johnny Depp was handed the hat, saw the ocean, and gave it a whirl. That Sparrow was made predictable, killing the essence of Captain Jack, couldn’t have been foreseen. The original Pirates was a shining city upon a hill, but the fourth effort proves the magic is gone, replaced by scenes calculated to please the broadest amount of people. Which isn’t necessarily a bad thing, right up to the point where all that calculating leads to a product that’s formulaic.

Grade: C

Source: film.com

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Cannes Review: Attack the Block is Loads of Fun

B+: Lawlessness versus savagery, no prisoners, no mercy.

Finally, a film that portrays the irrational hubris of youth as a net positive. Attack the Block, bathed in techno and rap, long on laughs and attitude, and boldly innovative while still flashily acknowledging those that have come before — this is a movie that should (and deserves to) foster a cult audience. We need more films in the spirit of Attack the Block, movies unafraid to blend genre, made on the (relative) cheap, and with characters you can relate to. An absolutely excellent time.

So what’s it all about? South London, the dodgy part, where you’re liable to get yourself mugged if you’re out late at night. Which is precisely what happens to a young nursing student named Sam (Jodie Whittaker). She’s accosted by five youths for her purse, cell phone, and jewelry. But something happens while she’s being robbed, BOOM, a huge meteor-like object crushes a car that’s right beside the thieves and their victim. Everyone scatters to the wind, though Sam is too frightened of the muggers to take note of the larger events unfolding, events portended by the destroyed automobile.

What we have here is an alien invasion, though of the localized variety. No shots of CNN, no marshaling of the worlds resources, just the kids of urban London battling against whatever the hell is landing on Earth, chasing them. An intimate alien film? Absolutely. Clever, eh? Sadly, to get too deeply into the specifics would be a disservice, so let’s instead focus on the superior attitude and execution that is Attack the Block.

There’s no wasted motion as the boys begin to equip themselves for war. In some ways, their attitude is informed by a couple decades of invasion films, and they don’t blink as they get strapped and make mutual “got your back” winks and nods. The leader of the young gang is Moses (John Boyega), he’s poised and lethally effective, and the four other boys would clearly go to the wall for him. The boys attempt to leverage the contacts they have, which of course include drug dealers and drug users, all in an effort to deal with the issue at hand. Nick Frost plays one of those user/dealers, he brings his patented “Hmmm, I am confused by the events transpiring” cluelessness to the action, and of course this is used for maximum levity. Go to the police? Ha! These boys are rousted by police on the regular for their mere appearance, they trust the police even less than they trust whatever it is that’s attacking their little corner of London. No, the official routes are off-limits, they’ve been raised to handle their own business. This is London lawlessness versus alien savagery, no prisoners, no mercy.

Where Attack the Block excels is in the areas of music and technology. And techno music, appropriately enough. The film makes excellent use of KRS-1′s “Sound of da police” and there’s a moment where all the boys have used up their mobile service allotment (remember, these are rough and tumble inner-city kids, not remotely approaching middle class) and one of the fellas exclaims “This is way too much information to put into only one text!” It’s moments like this that show Attack the Block‘s cultural vitality, this is a movie that is attuned to a realistic portrayal of how a cataclysm might look through the eyes of England’s youth.

The one failing Attack the Block must be dinged for is its stubborn refusal to let events dictate tone. There are heart-wrenching scenes here, but Attack the Block refuses to admit the emotional toll, opting instead to keep a relentless foot on the plot accelerator. It’s a reasonable choice, as it’s as much a comedy as it is a sci-fi invasion story, but the lack of introspection keeps the movie from taking its rightful place at the very top of the genre. Still, that’s a paltry complaint and shouldn’t detract from the overall “fun” level of the work as a whole.

Part Warriors, part Goonies, but all heart, Attack the Block is wildly entertaining, a must see for any fan of “us vs. them” cinema.

Grade: B+

Source: film.com

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Cannes Review: The Artist is a Delight The Artist

Cannes Review: The Artist is a Delight

A: Highly recommended for any serious fan of cinema.

There’s no particular reason The Artist should work. It’s a predominantly silent film, in black and white, with lead actors you likely haven’t seen before. And yet, it’s delightful, simply lovely, a tribute to the magic that occasionally takes place when inspiration meets resources.

The year is 1927, and silent films are still all the rage. Actor George Valentin (Jean Dujardin) is at the top of his game, he’s got a grilled cheese eating grin, a chauffeur, and a cute little dog that appears in all his movies with him. Those films are big and broad, appealing to the masses. For example, he stars in A German Affair to follow up on his hit film A Russian Affair. The toast of the town, that’s George.

One day George is taking photos with his adoring fans, when a girl catches is eye. The photographers go crazy for the pairing, her name is Peppy Miller (Bérénice Bejo) and they make the front cover of Variety with the headline “Who’s That Girl?” As you can imagine, George’s wife is none too pleased. But it’s just another charmed day in the life of the silent film star, and he dutifully reports to work the next day … only to find Peppy has been cast as an extra! She captures the attention of a producer (John Goodman) who immediately berates her for stealing the thunder of the film he’s releasing, as George and Peppy’s impromptu photo session stole the front page from him. George intercedes on her behalf, and they film a scene together. They are clearly smitten, the chemistry palpable, and as he leaves the set she attempts to arrange a liaison with him in his dressing room. He’s her hero, you see, and she wants to be near him, in the manner of all initial and overwhelming attraction. George happens upon her, gives her some friendly advice on her career, and then the chauffeur interrupts.

Alas, he’s married, and she’s on her way up in the game, so their interaction is short lived. Unfortunately for George, trouble is a brewing, and it’s coming in the form of talking. George is a silent film expert, and he rejects the idea of talking in his movies, leaving him dangerously out of touch. Conversely, Peppy’s career is starting to gain real steam, partly thanks to George and his advice.

The Artist unfolds in the typical silent film fashion, as George and Peppy head in disparate career trajectories, and by 1931 George has become a husk of his former self. The film has a few central themes running through it, how change comes to us all, how our pride interferes with matters of the heart, how stubbornness masquerading as strength can sap one’s vitality. But most of all it’s the story of George and Peppy. Can they make it work? Are they star crossed? Could George’s little Jack Russell Terrier be any cuter? And so on. The Artist conjures a time of happiness without subtext or irony, when what you saw was essentially what you got at the movies. Mugging for the camera was the only way to truly get over with a story, but things were bound to change, and commerce waits for no man.

Recent movies such as Wall-E have executed a nearly flawless “silent” film experience, but nothing is quite the throwback that The Artist is. By rousing a forgotten medium director Michel Hazanavicius has given us a little gift of cinema. Form did follow function at the movies, and it is an understatement to say that sound has helped the industry, but The Artist, with its charm, verve, and timing is a real treat. Highly recommended for any serious fan of cinema, The Artist says it best when it says nothing at all.

Grade: A

Source: film.com

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Cannes Review: Tree of Life

B: The ambition of Tree of Life is sweeping and robust.

Tree of Life is loaded with concepts. It’s also visually stunning, Malick remains atop the field, conceiving and executing shots with genius-level precision. So what keeps the door barred on the “modern masterpiece” label? The lack of cohesion and the failure to connect. As such, Tree of Life is a flawed though intensely interesting experience at the theater. This could be a parable portraying The Garden of Eden, innocence lost, the Book of Job, or possibly even a creation metaphor. It could be anything, or it could be nothing, and that’s where the clarity issue must be considered.

Early on in Tree of Life the basic framework for the piece is established. It’s nature vs. grace, conflict vs. cooperation, creation vs. destruction. Tree of Life asks all the big questions, which means it really only asks one question over and over. Why? Why do we die? Why are we here? Why should we be good to each other? Why do parents lie? The questions come furiously, generally presented in minute-long vignettes, and Tree of Life at times feels like about 150 majestic postcards in a row. Some are spoken word, some feature voiceover, and some show off incredible imagery. There’s a twenty minute portion of Tree of Life where Malick simply breaks down all of creation, from the beginning of time, including the dinosaurs and the “ecosystem killing”meteor. And yes, Malick still adores his shots of roiling water, fully realized soft blue chaos. These are not shots that your average director could pull off with such style, and the ambition of Tree of Life is sweeping and robust.

The main characters of Tree of Life are a family living in Waco, Texas. Mr. O’Brien (Brad Pitt) and his wife (Jessica Chastain) have three young sons. They also have parenting styles which are reflective of the central themes. Mrs. O’Brien is all harmony and grace. She believes in loving everything, she’s willing to take abuse, she wants to please. Mr. O’Brien is nature, survival of the fittest. He believes in never quitting, seeks to please himself, and he wants to dole out abuse. They each educate and raise the children in their manner, and neither is completely effective. Tree of Life strives to point out that balance of force is required, but that nothing can truly insulate you from the hard lessons of life. Simply loving without discipline doesn’t get you anywhere, nor does working tirelessly without passion. The kids are strands of each of these arguments. The older one is just like his father, a scrapper, while the younger boy is sweetness and light, the spitting image of his mother. The third son represents a flaw with the film, as he’s not well established. However, the conundrum of this complaint is that this might very well be a stylistic choice given the events that transpire. We simply can’t know what we don’t know, which of course Malick is fully aware of.

The O’Briens, for all their faith and coping techniques, keep sliding, inch by inch, degree by degree, toward the brink and a crisis of faith. The children are followed from birth to early teens, first being taught objective concepts, here is how you read, here is how you you kiss, before the parents make the transition to subjective human frameworks like boundaries, respect, and fear, items that only exist as a shared human consciousness. The children are versed in the world, but they start to see the hypocrisy, they start to question parental authority, they start to question how God works. Tree of Life is filled with some truly lovely discussion points, all based on that “why” paradigm. Why does God send flies to wounds he should heal? Why must we keep trying? Misfortune befalls the good as well as the wicked, and as the children mature they certainly lose their innocence. Near this juncture the film plays as completely stunning … and massively quixotic.

The other main character is an adult version of one of the O’Brien children. Sean Penn tackles this part, but it’s fairly disjointed and difficult to follow. Penn’s portion does occur in modern day, so we do get Malick’s sweeping architectural vistas and impressive use of light. The modern scenes do lend a certain relevance to the proceedings, but they take just as much off the table in terms of emotional resonance. Again, it’s hard to sit in judgment of the human experience laid bare in such an intimate manner, and Malick’s ambition must be hailed even as his concepts separate him from the herd.

Tree of Life is a riddle. Captivating at times, ponderous at others, it is clear we’re in the hands of a master, though it’s just as clear he doesn’t plan on giving you all the answers. In that Tree of Life is really the story of human existence, it can’t help but be a little flawed.

Grade: B

Source: film.com

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